


you're so (not) my type

by manticoremoons



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Kissing, Love/Hate, Sloppy Makeouts, or... Frenemies to Lovers?, well only a little sloppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 13:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manticoremoons/pseuds/manticoremoons
Summary: “Oh, really? And what is your type?”He’s smirking, she can tell. She can’t even see his face but she can just tell. Huffing out in annoyance, she says, harshly this time, “I don’t know—definitely the opposite ofyou, though."





	you're so (not) my type

**Author's Note:**

> These two have had a grand total of 180 seconds of screen time together tops and they've successfully ruined me for all others. Just dabbing my feet in with this fandom.
> 
> I own nothing but the mistakes.

The morning after Veronica’s crazy ass party, Josie McCoy tells herself exactly three lies.

Scrubbing the make-up she’d forgotten to clean off her face the night before, grimacing at the stink of beer, liquor clinging to her dress and _his_ cologne ( _Jesus, did he bathe in the stuff?_ ), she looks at her worn reflection in the mirror and says the first one out loud:

“That mess—never happening again.”

Whether it’s the party, the late-night drinking, the drugs (there’s curdling shame in the pit of her stomach at that, her mom would be so disappointed…), or _that other thing_ , she doesn’t clarify to herself.

All of the above. _Never happening. Ever. Again_.

 

# ∞

 

“Just so you know—you’re so not my type, Mantle.” The words come out on a shaky gasp, rather than the authoritative statement she was going for.

“Oh, really? And what is your type?”

He’s smirking, she can tell. She can’t even see his face but she can just tell. Huffing out in annoyance, she says, harshly this time, “I don’t know—definitely the opposite of _you_ , though.”

He outright laughs at that, and she wishes the sound pissed her off rather than making her heat up. _Ugh, she can’t stand him_.

“Well, that’s not what you were saying that night a couple weeks ago when you had your tongue down my throat, is it?”

She opens her mouth to answer but doesn’t get very far because this time he slots his tongue down _her_ throat. The kind of kiss that’s sloppy and wet and hungry, his teeth grazing her lower lip, his tongue sliding against hers. _It’s obscene_. And she likes it. She won’t tell him, though. He’s got a big enough head as it is. And there’s no doubt that he can tell with the way her body’s curving against his like a cat stepping on an electric wire, that whimper-y sound pushing out of her throat.

He makes things worse when he grips her thighs, his hands surprisingly callused for a guy who looks like he spends more time in front of a mirror than she does, and lifts her up to straddle his hips. He shuffles a few steps and plops her down on the cluttered desk in the school janitor, Mr Costanzo’s storage room, and slots himself right there between her thighs. He’s so much _taller_ than her. All broad shoulders and hard muscles packed under his idiotically tight t-shirt.

She’s a tiny person as it is, but he makes her _feel_ it for one of the rare times in her life. Even worse, he makes her _like_ it.

Josie hasn’t really dated that many boys outside of dates to official school dances and stuff like that. She’d maybe made out with a few of them, and once or twice with Cheryl when they had sleepovers. Most of her romantic (or… not) encounters have been nothing to write home about. Like at all.

But Reggie… Reggie is different.

 _Ugh_.

 

# ∞

 

“So… I hear Chuck Clayton asked you out the other day,” he says, clearly fishing but attempting to look like he isn’t. He’s got a bored droop to his eyes like he could be anywhere but here and he’s doing _her_ a favour by cornering her just inside the science lab exit, asking her about her personal life choices.

Josie just looks at him, arms folded across her chest. She’s not throwing him any freebies.

When she doesn’t say anything, he perks up, a frown furling his brow. “Wait—did you say yes?” He mirrors her stance and it looks like he swallowed something really bitter.

“That, Mantle, is none. Of. Your. Business.” She pats him on the shoulder, walks around him and out the lab.

She didn’t say yes, of course. Chuck’s a certified asshole and no amount of mayor-approved urging from her mother (“The Claytons have given a lot to my campaign, honey, I’m sure their son would be great catch.”) would make her want to date him. She shudders at the thought.

Reggie doesn’t need to know that though.

Later, when she sees Reggie sidling close to some blonde bimbo cheerleader (her name’s Tessa, she’s a cool girl but all Josie can hear is _Kill Bill_ sirens when she looks at the two of them) in a booth at Pop’s, she narrows her eyes.

 _What a dick. He’s such a dick_.

Taking in a deep breath, she puts on her game face, and proceeds to _have the absolute time of her life with her friends_.

And she doesn’t think about Reggie Mantle and his dumb mouth _one_ bit.

 

## *

 

The backseat of a Camaro in the darkest corner of Pop’s car park is the last place she should be right now.

Reggie’s somehow managed to fit his tall frame in a sprawl across the seat, his head curved awkwardly against the door. She’s perched on top of him with one hand creeping under his Henley to feel the literal washboard abs underneath and the other clutching at his hair while his mouth makes her forget simple human needs like oxygen.

She scrapes one of her leopard-print nails against his chest, catching on a nipple and Reggie jerks like she set him on fire.

His head falls back and they both gulp in some much needed air.

Josie tilts her head down a little to take a bite out of the soft skin at his throat. She’s not hungry or anything, but something about how he smells there, makes her crave a taste.

“Shit… Josie.”

The way he says her name, all wheezy and desperate, makes her grin against the pulse beating double-time under his skin. She likes that _she_ can make him like this. It’s a heady kind of power that sort of reminds her of the way she feels onstage but different. She couldn’t care less about an audience right now, the only person she wants to bring to their knees is Reggie.

He seems to like it when she’s a little rough with him too. A factoid she files away for future reference.

She cranes her head up to kiss him on the mouth again—it’s a really nice mouth.

“Just in case you were wondering,” he tells her before she can get to it, “Nothing’s going on between me and Tessa.”

Josie sits up sharply, narrowly avoiding crowning her head on the car’s roof.

“I… _wasn’t_ wondering,” she says. She puts her hands on her hips, which is just difficult given how little space there is in this car. And awkward because her maxi dress is bunched all the way up so she could straddle Reggie, and the conspicuous hardness on his lap, and he has his hands on her butt.

She’d forgotten all about that girl and now he’s reminded her and she’s annoyed again.

“Oh,” Reggie says. “Right, well, that’s cool. I guess.” He bites his lower lip and his gaze flits to somewhere to the left of her, there’s a splatter of red on his cheeks.

Josie sighs. “In the interests of openness and sharing, I—um. Well, I didn’t go out with Chuck or whatever.”

His eyes snap back to her and some of the tension in his body eases beneath hers. The corner of his mouth lifts up, and there’s a dimple that she wants to press her lips to or poke with a finger. She settles on the latter and his smile deepens.

“Well, that’s good,” he says.

“He’s not all that, anyway.”

“Yeah.” He reaches up to wrap his finger around a curl that’s escaped from her bun. “Tessa, too.”

She ducks to kiss him again, a hard kiss that’ll leave his lips bee-stung and bruised, and ensure everyone knows what he’s been doing. Not who he’s been doing it with, obviously. But _she’ll know_ and that’s enough.

 

# ∞

 

Midterms are probably the only time Riverdale High students dial down the crazy long enough to actually study and do school work. That, and finals.

Josie’s working her way through an Advanced Biology practice quiz in the library, which is open a couple hours late this week for students who need it. And she might as well be undergoing a root canal. She _hates_ biology. Hates it. If she had her way, all she’d study is music and math. But _no_. She had to be brilliant at _all_ things. So, she’d taken advanced everything this year and all of it is kicking her ass.

Sometimes, not even the proud smile on her mom’s face when she brings home a mostly perfect report card makes all this stress worth it.

Someone throws themselves into the seat across from her, their pile of books landing on the desk with a loud thud.

Josie glares at Reggie, still in a football under-shirt and letterman jacket, obviously fresh out the shower from practise.

“What are you doing here?”

Reggie shoots her an irritated look, a sneer on his face as he gestures at his books. “What people normally do in a library? Study… duh.”

“Oh.” Josie hadn’t even been aware that Reggie knew where the school library was. “Well, don’t distract me—I can’t afford to get anything less than an A on tomorrow’s Biology exam.”

“Trust me, I _know_. My mom will murder me if I mess up AP Lit.”

She shoots him a look of commiseration, she knows exactly what it’s like to have a mom that won’t quit. Settling back in her seat, she focuses back on the test quiz in front of her, brow furrowing at all the questions she still has to get through. _Ugh, this is gonna take forever_.

After a few minutes more of explaining what comprises mitochondrial DNA or trying to, she glances up and stops short. Her mouth falls open. Because, Reggie’s reading _Beowulf_ , and he’s wearing a pair of black-rimmed spectacles.

“You wear glasses,” she blurts out.

Reggie looks up, one eyebrow rises on his forehead as he says, deadpan, “Those are some excellent observational skills you’ve got there, McCoy. I’m sure they’ll do good for you in the practical part of the Biology exam.”

“Ugh, you’re such an asshole,” she tells him, wrinkling her nose like she smelled something bad while a smile threatens to break on her mouth. It’d probably sting more if she said it with more conviction.

“Takes one to know one.” He pushes his glasses up his nose as he says it. And it should look nerdy and lame but instead she finds herself swallowing hard because… in defiance of all known principles of physics and human biology, Reggie somehow looks _hotter_ with those things on his face.

_Oh boy, she’s in trouble._

After a few more attempts to explain what a covalent bond is, she gives up. Cycling her shoulders, she raises her arms up over her head in a stretch that has all the joints in her shoulders cracking. She arches her back to work out all the kinks.  She needs a break and maybe to stretch her legs.

Tossing her pen on the table she finds Reggie staring at her, his eyes slightly bigger behind his glasses. There’s something smoky and hypnotic in the depths of them that makes Josie feel like a bug pinned to an observation table—except in a good _that-makes-me-shiver_ way.

“I’m taking a little break. Be back in a few.”

She doesn’t wait for his response since she’s not even sure why she told him. It’s not like she’s beholden to him or anything.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she wanders over to the stacks near the back of the library. Not many students are still around so it’s quiet, and as she walks down a row of encyclopaedias, she welcomes the cool silence. Running her finger idly along the spines, she breathes in that musty book smell that she’s always liked. She turns into the next aisle and promptly walks into a brick wall.

A brick wall named Reggie. He’s got that familiar smirk on his mouth that makes her want to slap him or kiss him. No middle ground.

“Hey, what—are you stalking me?” she hisses.

 He’s still wearing the spectacles and his hair has fallen over his brow in a natural cowlick that makes him look like some kind of teenage Clark Kent. Josie tries not to make it obvious that she appreciates the view.

“Thought I’d join you on your break, is all.”

And he takes a step forward that forces her to shuffle back, right into the shelf of books behind her.

“Well, I didn’t invite you,” she says and just barely resists making a _shoo-shoo_ gesture to get him to go away.

He places his hands on the shelf she’s leaning against, effectively caging her in. The books dig into her shoulder blades through the t-shirt dress she’s wearing, and he’s making her aware of his size with the way he looms over her. Josie wishes she could hate the feeling but she tilts her head back so she can catch his gaze, and nibbles on her lower lip.

His eyes track the movement and he licks his own lips, leaving them shiny and pink.

“Tell me to leave,” he orders, a gruff whisper.

Josie grips the front of his ridiculously tight shirt and yanks him down to her height. “No,” she murmurs against his lips and kisses him.

And then she forgets everything, her biology quiz, his _Beowulf_ , the fact that they’re in a public library and anyone could walk in on them climbing all over each other and defiling school property.

In that moment, she doesn’t even care.

 

# ∞

 

“What’s going on with you and the walking jockstrap?” Mel asks during one of their breaks. They’ve been rehearsing this remix of the Commodores' 'Night Shift' for a couple of hours, and for some reason the coda just isn’t working.

Val’s gone out to grab a couple snacks from the vending machine, Mel’s tinkering with her drum set, and Josie’s staring at the pile of music sheets in front of her in a daze of exhaustion.

“The what?” she says, distracted.

Mel hits the pedal on her bass drum, a throbbing boom filling the room. “Oh, come on, sis. You know I’m talking about Tall, Dark and Dumber than a stale bag of _Lays_ Reggie Mantle.”

Josie gapes, swinging around to face her band-mate’s too-observant gaze, her cheeks burning. “It’s no—.”

“Don’t say it’s ‘nothing’, girl. We know you’re lying.”

Val, loaded with bags of chips and a couple of Coke’s, makes an affirmative sound, kissing her teeth with it the way Mel’s Bajan grandmother always does when she thinks someone’s being a trifling ass.

“It’s like the day after that night, when you _claimed_ you ‘didn’t even remember kissing the guy—so it can’t have been that great’.”

Josie winces. She should’ve known that tiny lie would come back to bite her in the ass.

With a sigh, Josie picks up her bottle of water and takes a gulp. She can feel her friends watching her, and quails under the pressure. It’s no use lying to these two. They know her better than pretty much anyone. Lying feels shitty to do to two girls who are her sisters in more ways than one, anyway, so she blurts out: “Okay, the kiss that night wasn’t terrible. Like at all. It was good—great. And then, a couple weeks ago, I bumped into him in the hallway, and we got to talking… well, not even, talking. Before I knew it, his mouth was on mine, and it was so…. _Anyway_. I ended up getting home late and almost getting grounded for breaking curfew with my mom.”

It all spills out like word vomit, panicked and breathless one second, dreamy and girlish the next. She sounds like a bad parody of herself, she knows from the way both Val and Mel are looking at her like she’s been body-snatched.

Because that’s the thing. _She’s Josephine McCoy_. She’s spent years cultivating _The Josie McCoy_ , lead singer of the Pussycats, future Grammy winner and platinum-selling artiste. So above the petty concerns of spotty, sweaty and stupid teenage losers.

Not that Reggie is spotty. He’s not even a loser and underneath all the bravado and over-confidence, he’s smart about some things, occasionally. And although sometimes he _can_ be sweaty, she’d found out that she quite liked that on him when she cornered him under the bleachers after football practise the other day and spent forty-five minutes sucking his face off. The smell, first of all, musky with a bit of salt and cologne, manly. And just, the way he felt in his damp, creased football uniform after a long afternoon of running around on that dumb field. Just… really nice.

That sounds stupid, even in her head.

“So… how long has this been going on?” Val asks, cautious but non-judgy the way only she manages to do with any sincerity.

“A month… and a half.” It sounds like a much longer time when she says it out loud.

“So are you guys like, together?”

“No! _No_. absolutely not. Negative, no.”

They’d agreed not to make this thing between them a _big deal_ or whatever. Or, she’d informed Reggie that it wasn’t, and he’d mostly agreed. Any protests he’d had, she’d swallowed in a kiss.

_It was out of the question._

For a lot of reasons. Not least, her mom would go nuts and probably ship her off to the nearest nunnery or rehab. Possibly both. Ever since the Jingle Jangle fiasco, Reggie and pretty much anyone not Val, Mel or Cheryl was the devil.

And besides, it’s not like she and Reggie are a _viable_ couple in any way. They don’t even technically get along any time they’re around each other and _not_ kissing. He’s arrogant and thinks he’s the best thing since sliced bread and _Lemonade_. And she’s…

                                                                     

_Dating him would be the worst decision ever._

It’s a good thing she knows this, too. After all, Josie can’t afford any distractions. Between AP classes and Pussycat practise, there isn’t time for… some _high school_ _romance_ that’ll barely be a footnote in her _VH1 Behind the Music_ documentary in twenty years.

“Do you want to be?” Val asks, a knowing tilt to her mouth. And Josie feels something inside her crack a little.

But she tosses her bangs out of her eyes, and the last lie—one she’d whispered to herself that morning long ago—slips off her tongue with ease. “No, I don’t even like him.”

She knows neither of her friends believes her.

 

# ∞

 

There’s nothing quite like the high of coming off a successful gig. Josie can feel the electricity of the crowd fizzing through her veins. They’d gotten to do a pretty long set this time, in celebration of the new Lodge SoDale Development—one of the new ventures aimed at rehabilitating the Southside by targeting the youth, a skating rink, putt-putt course, cinema complex and a few more things according to Hiram and Hermione’s speeches. Whether the plan would work is a mystery—things had been pretty crazy in Riverdale the last six months. The last two alone felt like some kind of B horror movie.

But things are better now. Or getting there, at least. They’ve all made it out mostly alive.

The crowd, a mix of North and South folks, was pretty hype. The air heady with springtime flowers and food, picnic tables laid out all over Riverdale’s one good park. Scores of people sang along to all the songs they recognised, there’d even been some dancing. It was all very gratifying.

As she does most times post-performance, Josie finds a quiet spot to just breathe and collect herself. Like an athlete after a marathon, she needs to warm herself down, get the heartrate back to normal.

Leaning against a tree, the bark scratching against the bare skin of her back she takes refuge under its low-hanging branches and breathes in slowly and then out again. Her eyes closed in meditation.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

She jumps at the voice, then her body instinctively relaxes because she knows who it is even without opening her eyes.

“Why’s that?”

“It’s dangerous—all sorts of weirdos’re always on the loose in Riverdale, didn’t you know?”

She smiles, a corner of her mouth tugging upwards in spite of herself. “Like you, you mean?”

He steps in close, at least a foot away from her, arm’s length. She still doesn’t open her eyes.

Part of her thinks if she just keeps them closed, maybe she won’t do anything stupid like she’s done every other time they’ve been within five feet of each other. But in some ways it’s worse like this. She breathes in through her nose and catches the familiar scent of him, she can _feel_ him watching her, imagine clearly the strange intensity that he’s started getting in his eyes every time he looks at her. The one that makes her heart start hopping like crazy in her chest, makes her want to _do_ things like hold his hand in the hallways at school, or invite him to dinner at her house, or go on dates in places people might actually see them together.

It’s a bad thing. _So bad_.

But she can’t even pretend she doesn’t like it.

She can’t pretend anymore that she doesn’t like _him_.

A petal-soft touch brushes her lower lip, then her chin and up along her cheek. She shivers even though it’s far from cold right now. It smells sweet. Blinking, she looks down, and it’s a rose, red and lush.

She holds a breath as he traces the flower down along her throat, a delicate skim over her shoulders and arm before he puts in her hand.

“Thank you… Reggie. It’s really pretty,” she says, meeting his gaze in the dark. His hair’s flopping across his forehead and there’s a softness to him that makes him kind of cute rather than the slick, too-handsome guy he usually is. Her heart’s doing that thing in her chest cavity again.

“You know how… that one time when you said I wasn’t your type?” he asks the question so quiet she wouldn’t be able to hear if he wasn’t standing so close to her, close enough that she could lean at a tiny angle and she’d be on him.

“Yeah.”

“I was—.” He runs a hand through his hair leaving it all floofy, shifting on his feet. _He’s nervous_ , Josie realises. Reggie isn’t the kind of guy who ever gets nervous—at least not in front of people, even her. “I was wondering if maybe, you would give me a chance to change your mind.”

“How do you intend to do that?” she inquires with an arched brow.

It’s a joke but he answers very seriously anyways, “I don’t know—I hadn’t gotten that far yet.”

She waits for some punchline. The inevitable ‘But I would rock your world like no man ever before’ promise. But he doesn’t do that, he just… waits.

There’s a twist to his mouth as his broad shoulders wilt a bit the longer she doesn’t respond.

“Look, I get you’re pretty much Beyoncé but….”

Josie can’t help it, she giggles at him quoting what he’d said to her all those weeks ago in Pickens Park, surrounded by dirty syringes, used condoms and all sorts of other stinky, health hazardous shit.

When she gets up on her tiptoes to kiss him because it’s the only thing she _can_ do when he’s looking at her like that, he rears back with a yelp, holds up his hands in self-defence.

“Whoa, no distractions until you answer me, woman. This is important and… I—I can’t think straight when you kiss me,” he admits, with a sheepish half-shrug.

 _Oh no, he’s adorable_ , she thinks.

“Yes, you idiot. Just remember—if you break my heart, you’ll be the subject of my first award-winning album. Think Taylor Swift but with swagger and range, got it?”

And then he tosses his head back in laughter, lifts her into his arms and twirls her like something out of a movie before coming to a stop, letting her slide down his body until she’s standing on her own two feet again. _Barely_.

He brings one of his hands up to cup her face, gentle, almost reverent and says like a promise, “Got it.” The kiss he gives her then is different from all the others, soft and sweet, a tug on her lower lip, and his hand warm and heavy on her chin.

 

# ∞

 

Josie never makes it back to the celebration. And when she does get home, sneaking straight up to her room to flop down on her bed with a mile-wide smile on her face, she’s got the kind of hickeys lining her neck that would make lying futile.

She’s… okay with that.

 

# fin

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is cool or whatever.


End file.
